


Beautiful? Me?

by BeezandBitches



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Monster-fucker tendencies, Oil is kinda sexy, Painting, tumblr ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeezandBitches/pseuds/BeezandBitches
Summary: A Tumblr ask for imconcernedabouttheoregano “What if the reader was a artist and saw pollution and felt like they had to paint them, because they saw a beauty in the oil and toxicity?”
Relationships: Pollution/Reader (Good Omens), Pollution/You (Good Omens)
Kudos: 35





	Beautiful? Me?

The river was murky, with pieces of trash floating through it. Most people wouldn’t dare walk along a site like that, it wasn’t exactly the prettiest thing to the average person. But, clearly, Pollution wasn’t average considering they caused the river’s transformation from crystal clear to sludge-filled.

They sat on the bench beside the bank, absorbing the peace and quiet that came with their work. The sounds around them, ironically, were only those of nature. It was almost poetic really.

They let themself loose a bit. It could get taxing to always restrain their true form, of sopping, oozing oils barely held together by a body. But, appearances must be kept up around humans. Their eyes began to trickle with toxins, dripping down their cheek and chin. Their lips leaked just a small bit of oil and sludge, dribbling down their face before hitting the ground below, killing whatever poor plant it came into contact with.

Their silence had been broken by the sound of a cracking twig. Whipping their head around in almost an animalistic way, they saw you standing there, paralyzed.

“I-I’m sorry!” You stammer. “I didn’t mean to intrude!”

“Who are you?” Pollution asked, standing up.

“I-I’m Y/N. I’m an art student at the campus in town.” You walk over cautiously, not really sure who or what this person is.

“What do you want?”

“I was hoping to paint the river down.. here..” When you get close enough is when you really see them. The oil dripping from their face. Their eyes darkening. They were like nothing you had ever seen before. “Wow..”

“Wow?” Pollution asked, covering part of their face instinctually. Humans weren’t meant to see this side of them. It felt strange to have someone stare at them so wide-eyed.

“You’re.. just woah.” You say, before stopping yourself from going to touch them. It would be rude to touch someone when you just met them afterall. “Is that.. oil?”

“It’s not your business.” They said, defensively. “I should leave.”

“Wait, please!” You ask as they turn to go. “My painting assignment is due in a few days. I.. know it’s a strange favor to ask and we don’t even know each other but.. Could I paint you?”

Pollution was more than slightly surprised. Humans don’t normally catch sight of them in their oily state and think ‘Ah yes, that’s something i’d like to capture artistically’. Usually it was more along the lines of ‘Oh god, it’s the creature from the black lagoon.’

“What’s the catch?” They said.

“Nothing! Really! You just.. look really cool.” You say with a kind of sincerity in your voice that nearly smacks them upside the head, metaphorically.

“You think?” Pollution asked, wiping the slightest bit of toxins from their cheek as they lowered their hand.

“Yes. It’s so.. haunting, and alluring. Like the river.” You say, motioning to the waters. “I think you’d be the perfect subject. So.. can I paint you?”

“..I.. I guess so.” They said, somewhat unsure of themself or the situation at hand. Each passing second felt like a hallucination, simply because you haven’t run away screaming yet.

“Thank you so much!” You say happily, quickly going to set up your spot by the bench they were at. Pollution sat back down, shifting in their seat as you gave them a thumbs up.

And so, they tried to relax again. Close their eyes and let their oils run freely. And for the most part, it worked. But every so often they’d peak an eye open and look at you, and the way you looked at them with admiration made them feel a certain type of way.

———

“Is it finished?” They asked after a few hours. Now they were antsy.

“Almost.. Just a few more quick touches.” You said as your brush danced against the canvas. “And.. done! Come look!”

Pollution walked over and took a glance at the painting, their eyes going wide.

That was them alright, sitting on the bench by the bank, the oils of their face glistening down and merging with the river water that was painted so delicately. The swirls of greys and blacks against the white of their clothing and hair seemed to dance together. It was beautiful.

Is this how you saw them? As beautiful?

Lucky for them, their blush was obscured by the toxins dried to their skin.

The two of you had parted ways, only due to the fact you had to hurry to your night class. When you came back a few days later, you found a white rose sitting on the bench along with a phone number. On the paper, it said “Maybe I can paint you next time?”

So there would be a next time.


End file.
